


Pressin Ma Luck

by astrothsknot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's got skills, F/M, Handcuffs, Het, Oral Sex, bound Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrothsknot/pseuds/astrothsknot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knows a thing or two. Officer Kathleen finds out what</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pressin Ma Luck

Title: Pressin’ Ma Luck  
Author: Astrothsknot  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Rating: NC17 het sex, language and some mild bondage  
Pairing: Dean/Officer Kathleen  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Kripke.  
Written for a-kindara’s massive flist exchange of doom - Jenab requested Dean/Officer Kathleen, involving handcuffs. Beta by pheebs1

“I know a trick or two.” He’d said it in a voice that was all whiskey and promises. He didn’t even realise he’d done it. 

Two days after Kathleen had saved his brother - or helped the brothers save themselves, she supposes it depends on how you look at it - “Greg Washington” sends her an email. It’s stupid and dangerous on both their parts. She’s a Deputy. He’s a felon. She’s a killer. Most likely, so is he.

It’s not like we’re pissing up the wall here

If you ever need anything. 

There’s a number and an email. He’s a liar. She’s a liar. 

She’s brotherless and he’s not.

She hits reply. Anything? 

So she tells him about her shitty day. The investigation. She even tells him about the vacuum cleaner exploding. She tells him about Phoebe, her eldest daughter, getting busted with a fake ID and how Anna the youngest and just taking Drivers’ Ed, managed to crash the car…in the garage.

Kathleen doesn’t get a reply and she doesn’t expect it.

Until a week later. When she does. And every week after that. Every Wednesday, for the next six months, there’s a new email in her inbox. He never puts his name in the emails

Dean - Kathleen knows that’s his name now. . She’d worked that out - writes like he speaks. Sometimes it’s clipped and to the point. Sometimes he rambles endlessly and excitably, especially if it’s about his car or he’s trying to not talk about something…like what he’s actually doing. Some kind of hunting, she thinks. Bounty hunting, maybe. He didn’t smell like he hunted animals.

But she doesn’t ask and he doesn’t tell. It goes both ways. It suits them both.

***

Dean’s leaning against her car, broad fucking daylight, holding two cups of coffee. He’s sipping one and damn, but she never thought that she’d be jealous of a plastic lid. She fights back the grin. 

“No,” Kathleen says to herself. “I’m forty-one for Christ’s sake. It’s bad enough when Anna won’t shut the hell up about the latest jock she’s got a crush on. I’m not going to squee like a fangirl.”

Dean doesn’t have the same problem. He’s got this huge shit-eating grin on his face when he sees her walking towards the car. He hands her the coffee. “White coffee, no sugar, right?” 

“How’d you remember that?” Kathleen asks, astounded. 

Dean’s grin goes from shit eating to cocky. “I remember the important details.

She can’t help it, but manages to fight the worst of it. Her lips form a smirk and there’s a definite twinkle in her eye. “What’s wrong with an email? Computer down?”

And Dean, that beautiful bastard can just fucking see it. “Atta girl!” He opens her door for her. 

“I locked that door…did you break into my car?” Kathleen’s not sure whether to be appalled or amused.

Dean just chuckles as Kathleen reaches across the car to unlock the passenger side. Dean sees her doing it and looks at her oddly. Then the grin’s back, but there’s something else in it this time. He looks pleased.

***

She drives to a local bar. Not the one where Sam went missing from, but one a bit further out than that. They talk about this and that, stuff from the emails, stuff that would have made it into today’s email.

“How long are you staying for?” She asks as Dean passes her the darts. “You’ve got a really good aim. You get a lot of practice?”

Dammit, he’s smirking. And so is she. “I get enough. I’m going to be here for the next week. While the trial’s on.” 

Kathleen misses the board, embedding one of the darts in the numbers around the outside. It takes her a moment to compose herself and her voice is shaky as she says, “Aren’t you worried you’ll get ….”

“I’m not going near the courthouse. I’m just here if you need me,” Dean replies as calmly as if he’s discusses the paint finish on the Impala. She doesn’t need to turn around to know that he’s watching her, waiting to take his cue from her.

Kathleen lets go of the breath she’s been holding, comes back to the table and finishes her beer. Calm blue eyes meet questioning green eyes, and for a moment longer she says nothing. “You got a room nearby?” Her voice is still calm, which shocks her.

Dean nods. “About five miles away.”

Kathleen nods and walks out to her car. Dean follows after her. They don’t talk.

***

As soon as they get through the door and Dean’s turned on the light, Kathleen’s got him slammed against the wall. He’s tense, as if for a fight - he should know she won’t arrest him - but still…

There’s too many layers between them, and she wants them off, but for a moment she can’t move. She’s just looking at him, hands flat on his chest. His rest on Kathleen’s upper arms. Not tight, not gripping. Just sitting.

She raises her face up to his, standing on tiptoe to reach his mouth. They’re scant inches away from each others’ lips, breathing each others’ air. Kathleen slides her hand up into the short, soft hair at the nape of Dean’s neck, pulling him closer. She lays the tip of her tongue against the corner of his mouth, traces the lush cupid’s bow, sweeps back to the start. His breath stutters a little.

She’s tracing his mouth in the opposite direction, timing it with her hands circling on his chest, under his shirt. Part of her can’t believe she’s being so reckless. 

“Kathleen….” Dean breathes more than whispers and it somehow encapsulates all that goes to make up Kathleen. Mother. Deputy. Sister. Lover. 

It makes her feel like a Goddess.

She’s pushing his shirt aside, over his shoulders. Tongue just brushing inside his lips. Dean’s shaking. Shaking. Kathleen can feel it under her hands, through the grey cotton of his t-shirt.

She pulls back, slightly, smiling. Dean Winchester, felon, hunter, killer, practical man of the world is shaking under her touch. And isn’t that just hot as the Hell she’s going to find herself in for this. Dean smiles back, the little cousin of the face-splitter she’d seen when he found Sam.

His hands move to her hair, running his fingers through it. “You’ve grown it out,” he says, voice low and rough, hitting Kathleen right there, right between the thighs. It doesn’t help that Dean’s started to lick her face and throat, little swirls and lines with the tip of his tongue. Her skin is burning where he’s traced.

She gives a small cry just before he gets back to her mouth, kisses it, wet and messy. God, his tongue feels as good in her mouth as it does on her skin. She licks the roof of his mouth, just with the tip.

Dean makes a little hhnnn deep in his throat, breaking away so he can take off Kathleen’s tee, pulling it over her head. It catches on her arms, at an odd angle so she can’t pull her arms out. She struggles a little, grinding against Dean - damn, he’s so hard - and a dark look crosses his face as he twists the tee, trapping her fast. Just for moment, she could believe this man is dangerous.

He kisses her again to take the sting out of it and Kathleen goes with it. She’s never been one for bondage, but their positions - Dean’s pressed tight against the door still, as trapped as Kathleen’s arms - is kinda erotic. She grinds harder against him, making sure the flies of their jeans catch just right and holy shit!

Kathleen’s climax takes her breath away and the legs from under her. Dean catches her as she falls and she gasps against his throat as they sink to their knees. He keeps moving, one hand undoing her bra clip, sliding it off, the other on her ass, keeping the pressure on her clit through the jeans as he thrusts against her. He’s kissing around her face again, licking and biting her shoulders, any where he can reach as he gets closer to his own orgasm.

Kathleen can only cling to him, the constant pressure on delicate areas keeping her running on. The tee is long since lost. Oh, Christ, she’s mewling like a kitten. She finds Dean’s mouth and kisses hard, desperate, sucking on his tongue, trying to work herself right inside him.

Dean’s free hand runs over her back, seeking out the sensitive areas, rubbing over them again and again, feeling her jump and move as he hits various trigger points. The pressure’s harder than she likes, but both are far too drunk on need and lust and now to take it easy and show off their skills. 

She pulls back to look at Dean’s face and Oh My God! His eyes. They’re blown and vast, like a junkie’s. “Wanna walk…in a…straight line…for…me?” she gasps out.

Dean catches on and tries to grin, but he’s as far gone as she is, a pink flush spread across his cheeks, his nose. His freckles look like flakes of chocolate on strawberry milk and she wants to giggle. All that comes out is a breathy groan and a smile that crinkles her eyes. 

“I’ll…even…say…Fuck!…the…alphabet…” Dean tries, voice cracked and rough. That tone makes her cunt clench tight and she grinds a little as he thrusts against her, digging her nails into the back of his head and his shoulders as waves streak through her muscles.

“J-Jesus…Kathleen….” It’s enough and the look on Dean’s face as he comes makes her gasp. Some men look ugly, faces contorted like it‘s hurting, but Dean looks like he’s just had a revelation, that this is just the most wonderful thing in the history of wonderful. He grasps her tight, and she feels his hips buck against hers. Where the denim is stretched tight over his dick, she feels it convulse, once, twice, three times.

They lean against one another for long moments while their breathing evens out, faces buried where the shoulder slopes into the neck. Kathleen breathes through her nose, just to keep smelling him, gun oil and coffee and good clean soap. Eventually Dean pats her back. “Kathleen, I gotta get out of these jeans,” he says. He’s still slightly breathless and the strawberry milk flush hasn’t gone.

Reluctantly, Kathleen slides off Dean, her eye-level right at the wet stain on his thigh as he stands. She looks back up at him, sated yet still wanton. Sees the same look on Dean’s face and she realises that whatever she asks him now, he won’t say no.

“You got handcuffs?” Kathleen asks, voice husky with fresh want.

Dean nods, “In the car,” and he growls it. He fumbles in his pocket for his keys. “Be undressed when I get back.”

“I guess I can’t come out and cuff you to the door if I’m naked,” Kathleen grins, reaching to his groin and rubbing slowly. Dean bites his lower lip, catching in his teeth as surely as his breath is caught. Kathleen moves her head towards where she’s rubbing when Dean moves so quick, that for a minute she can’t process what’s happened.

One moment she’s kneeling, about to give him a blowjob, the next, she’s swept - hey! - up over his shoulder and dumped on the bed. Strong fingers are wrenching off her boots, throwing them by the side of the bed, before moving to unsnap and haul off her jeans.

“How come you get to see what I got, when you’re not even shirtless yet?” Kathleen demands, faking crossness as she lies on the bed.

Dean snorts and looks for a long moment. “Two kids, my ass! I could bounce my keys off that stomach. Right, cuffs.” 

He’s gone for a minute, then comes back, dangling a set of handcuffs from his left hand. “You or me?”

Kathleen considers for a moment. “You.”

Dean grins, but there’s something under it, in his eyes. He strips off his tee, tosses it to the side. He stands for a minute to let Kathleen look. Dean watches her eyes drink him in, and it’s plain he finds the action hot, as his jeans are starting to tent again. He drops his head, then raises it slightly, so he’s regarding her from under his lashes.

She can’t stand it any longer and crawls forward on the bed, coming to stand right in front of him. Wordlessly, he passes her the handcuffs, the metal cold from sitting in the trunk of his car. He’s still looking at her from under his lashes, waiting on her cue.

And suddenly, Kathleen knows just how she’s going to play this. “Dean Winchester, put your hands behind your head, turn and face the wall,” she says, coolly, professionally. Dean gets that damn smirk on his face again, but he turns and faces the wall, offering her the most amazing biceps and a broad expanse of back to peruse for weapons. She kneels at his feet, unties his boots, holding on to them while Dean steps out of them, feeling his ankles for knives. She finds one strapped around his left ankle, places it on the chest of drawers next to them.

“For that,” she says, still professional, “You’re gonna make me come with your mouth,” and she shivers as she says it. Dean just rolls with it as his breath hitches, just a little and he replies, “Yes, Officer Kathleen, Ma’am.”

Sweet Baby Jesus….that voice.

Kathleen begins to slowly pat down Dean for weapons in his jeans, the way she’s always wished she could some of the better looking assholes she has to run in. It’d get her fired if she did this for real, but here, now? 

Fuck, she’s just as fired.

She runs her hands up and down his legs, feeling the denim mould to the ripped muscle under her hands. “You’ve got legs like a runner. You spend a lot of time evading capture?”

Dean turns slightly, so he can see her face. “Yes, Officer. There’s always some monster that wants a piece of my ass.”

Kathleen takes her time on his legs, checking to see where he flinches, what makes the muscles in his back ripple. Back of his right knee and his back arches. Sliding a hand up his inner left thigh makes his breath hesitate. Same thing on the other thigh.

She cups his ass, smoothing her hands over it, enjoying the firmness under her palms. But it’s time now to move things along. Kathleen takes the handcuffs, slides the chilled metal up his spine, smiling as his back snaps tight, that deep throated groan almost making her come there and then. 

She cuffs him, drawing his hands behind him, leans in close so her whole body is pressed tight against him and her nerves sing with the contact, skin aflame. She reaches round, unsnaps his jeans, leaving gentle bites on his shoulders as she does so. “I can’t feel any weapons, so we’ll see what you’re hiding under there.”

“You don’t think this body is a concealed weapon?” Dean pushes back into her, and slips his body against her, before he catches her panties with his bound hands, slowly pulling them down as he dips lower, until they fall past her knees and she steps out of them.

Dean hooks his fingers in the back of his jeans and boxers, shimmies them off. It should look ungainly, but it’s not. Even when he’s not hunting, he moves like a predator, oddly graceful. 

He’s turned back round to face her now, kneeling before her, bound and naked on the floor. Bends himself double and licks at the arch of Kathleen’s foot. She tries to gasp and giggle at the same time - it tickles! - and only manages to fall into the wall. 

Dean sucks and licks up the inside of her calf. “J…just a-as well I shaved my legs this morning…” Kathleen tries to giggle, keep her cool, but it’s impossible when Dean’s nipping the back of her knee, oh! Just like that! and his hair is tickling the inside of her thigh. It’s all connecting up, firing over her skin.

By the time Dean gets to the sensitive skin right at the top of her thighs, biting and licking between them, Kathleen is shaking like a leaf, the muscles under his touch convulsing. She can feel them pulsing around her pussy, her clit, as if there was a tongue there. She wants to push her clit into his face, force him to take it into his mouth and suck, but he doesn’t. Just keeps finding more sensitive flesh on her thigh, hhhnnn, rough tongue dragging against her skin.

Up. Across. Down. Around. Back. Forth. Oh….God…Dean… If it wasn’t for the wall, Kathleen would be on the floor in a gasping, boneless heap. Still could happen if this goes on much longer.

And then…oh God! Dean raises his mouth to her clit and begins to (A) lick the alphabet upon it, (B) using the tip (C…Oh Christ…D) of his tongue to gauge (E…F) her reactions. Her whole body (G…and he swirls his tongue lightly, before pressing hard on the cross stroke, and she hits her head so damn hard against the fucking wall she’s seeing stars...) quivers so hard with the fire coursing across her skin, raging through her nerves.

Kathleen looks down, getting as much of a kick from watching him as from feeling him there. Dean looks up then, not stopping…she thinks he must be repeating letters, because he’s at P and he must have done it already…His eyes have gone dark under the long sweep of lashes as his eyes meet hers and Kathleen thinks that she must look the same. The look upon his face sends chills down her spine, dark, intense, dangerous. He’s getting off her responses, repeating a particular move that rips a harsh cry from her throat, an arch from her body.

“And that’s just my mouth,” he husks against her mound and she’s confused for a moment, she hadn’t noticed him break off. 

“Keys…Keys…” she’s trying to thinks through the flood of sensation, makes a move to leave the wall - to search for the keys to the cuffs. “I want your hands-Oh!”

Dean stands, one fluid move, pushes Kathleen back against the wall with his body and the contact makes her gasp. He holds her there, oh, fuck…Dean…with his body, forehead to hers. He’s big and male and there. “Don’t you dare,” he growls, deep in his chest and Kathleen can feel it vibrating through her. Oh God. 

Dean pushes her feet apart gently, lowering himself just enough to slip his dick against her pussy. He leaves it there for a minute, as he slides against her body, pressing her to the wall, trying to connect with as much skin as possible, watching, always watching as he does so. 

Kathleen’s utterly gone. Shuddering, head lurching between Dean’s shoulder and the wall - not that there’s that much space between the rock and the hard place. 

She puts her hands to his ass, feeling the muscles flex and ripple as he moves, rubbing slowly against her, a little shake going through both of them, each time their nipples brush. Kathleen raises one of her hands to Dean’s head, pulling him down to her mouth as hard as she can, sucking on his lower lip. Dean’s tongue snakes out and laps her upper lip and with a roll of his hips, he rises up inside her.

Kathleen’s filled by him as Dean sheaths himself right up tight inside her. “Dean!” She doesn’t recognise her own voice as she says his name as a half-strangled cry. Dean responds by rolling his hips hard against her, pubic bone grinding right into her clit. So much skin, so much touch. 

He’s moving against her again and just how the fuck is he doing it? She wonders this through the growing wave that’s crashing through her system, flooding under her skin, flowing where he’s touching and he’s fucking everywhere. He’s not thrusting, there’s barely any motion from his dick, but he’s still huge and vast and filling her, getting the most out of what small movement is coming from his grinding, pushing hips.

Dean’s still sliding against her body, but he’s rolling his hips, catching her just so, making up for the fact that his hands are still cuffed tight behind him. She takes her hand from his ass, twines it in his fingers. They close around hers, gripping so hard it’s almost painful. His tongue and his lips mirror the slip of his hips. 

She never thought that the lack of hands to pull her closer could make them so close that they were almost inside each other. So much touch, so much skin. Everything is connecting up both inside and outside and Kathleen is just a huge, aching pool of want and need and oh, please Dean…Dean…now…Dean…

Kathleen says his name like a prayer and Dean looks at her like she’s a Goddess. His dark, vengeful Goddess. They don’t need any more words. They know each other as sea-green eyes meet eyes as dark as the storm-tossed ocean, pulling each other deep. 

That’s all she needs. The wave coursing through her body crashes and breaks somewhere deep inside her. Fresh ripples spasm through her cunt, sucking on Dean’s dick and she feels him squeeze her fingers in time to the greedy muscles deep inside. He pushes harder - was that possible? - keeping her running like he had with her jeans, timing each of his grinds with one of her pulses.

Somewhere that doesn’t need thought she can feel from the tremors from Dean’s own body that he’s close, struggling to prolong the moment for both of them, holding off his own orgasm, heightening the anticipation for both of them. He’s biting his lip as he looks at her, still that reverence on his face, that strawberry milk flush across his freckles. 

This deep in passion, it’s utterly adorable. She watches him for a moment, before licking where his teeth catch his lip. He shudders and she whispers, huskily, throatily, “Dean.”

And that’s it. That’s all it takes. Dean makes his only thrust against her, knocking her head off the wall and he comes, hard and gasping and shaking, arms pulling against his bonds as he tries to pull her close, forgetting the cuffs. 

“Kathleen…Kathleen…Kathleen.” Dean lets his legs go, and they sink down, Kathleen still pulsing around him. His kisses get slower and more sensuous as they come down, her hands tight around him. Dean pulls back to look at Kathleen and they laugh, between kisses.

“You certainly know a trick or two,” she giggles, afterglow smile playing across her lips.

That cocky grin is back. Bastard. “Guilty as charged, Officer Kathleen,” he says in a voice that’s all whiskey and promises.


End file.
